Unemployed Ben

What was that sound? Did the world just crack? Ahh shit…..not again.

One draw back to living in this beach community is that the weather is always sunny. Its hard to feel sorry for me I know but take today, while it seemed like a perfect day weather wise in town it was grey and cloudy. And yet there were people everywhere, the town has exploded with a influx of old people from other states. Why? Because some retirement and outdoor magazines rated it as one of the best places to live. Add to the equation that we have no state income tax and the Old Country Buffet set are loading up the scooters into their Buicks and heading to town. Of course real estate is pretty cheap here compared to Orange County so they start bidding with themselves on properties jacking up the price for the locals. The median home price in Whatcom County has risen from $146,500 in 2000 to $265,000 in 2005.

The growing disparity has also been noted in a study released earlier this month by Global Insight/National City Corp., which evaluates home prices. The study indicated Bellingham’s current median home prices are overvalued by 51.5 percent, ranking it 38th highest out of 317 metro areas, and highest in Washington state.

A family of four with an annual household income of $45,000, roughly the median, would be able to afford a home ranging from $135,000 to $195,000 depending on the amount of the down payment. The average selling price of a single family house in Bellingham is now $352,919, up 17 percent from last year.

This became pretty obvious as I drove around some of my old haunts today. The neighborhoods were not just some collection of houses in a coul-de-sac, they were now called things like Sunflower Estates and Whatcom Gardens. I went by houses I had lived in and they had been “flipped”, as in bought remodeled and sold again. They looked nothing like the places I had lived in.

Some might think this isnt such a bad thing as homeowners have had their homes increase in value but try to keep in mind if you could just barely make your payments as most people do and your property taxes all of a sudden double. So what do you do? You sell and make a nice profit and move slightly out of town to a place you can afford. Of course everyone else is doing it as well and all the surrounding communities have the same thing happen to them. Everyone is now bidding on the same houses and because they now have an extra 100k or so they use that money to keep outbidding their counterpart. Soon all the houses are selling on the first day and all the fixer uppers are being flipped and there are now no houses under 175k anywhere.

Ive rambled on long enough, its just that the place has turned into something that it cannot handle. The traffic is too busy and on every corner there is a coffee shop and a drug store, oh joy.

Well anyway I took some pics today and below I share a few with you.

Lake Padden

North Lake Padden

South Lake Padden

North Bellingham Bay

South Bellingham Bay

New Boulevard Park Walking Bridge

South Lake Whatcom

Boulevard Park

Statue dedicated to the fisherman lost at sea

Sudden Valley

Rocks that protect us from the Tsunami. FROM A TSUNAMI!??!! Aaaahhh!!

A Seagull, wow a Seagull

***Warning*** This is a long post. 3400 words man, but I think it is worthy of your attention.

The summer of 1985 was the first time I stole a car and it was all because a girl. I was sitting home one hot August night and the phone rang at around midnight, as this usually indicates someone for me or my older brother I grabbed in on the first ring as to not wake my mother. Mush Mush, I answered (the way all of my group answered the phone) and a vaguely familiar female voice on the other end asked if this was Ben. “Yeah, who is this?” “Shannon” the voice said.

When she uttered her name some of the greatest moments in my life came flooding back to my brain and my penis, this was the woman that I lost…errr from whom my virginity was taken, only a couple of months ago. So of course I stammered some uhh’s and ummm’s into the receiver while trying to regain my composure. She laughed at my clumsiness and which gave me the time it took to come up with the great line, “so what is going on?” Yep, pure genius. She laughed some more and told me that she was stuck out at her friends house with no way home and was wondering if I could come hang out and then give her a ride home.

Now of course she, having been my neighbor for years, knew I was only fifteen and couldn’t possibly have either a license or a car. But what my mind was thinking was that she would really like me to have a car or at least be the kind of guy with the ability to get a car no matter what laws might be bent. I also remembered back to when she last had her way with me and it seemed she almost enjoyed nearly being caught by her father so maybe she liked the dangerous type. Now my mind was going thru all the ways I could make this happen and before the plan was ever finalized I just said “Sure, sounds good to me” ” So where are you at and how do I get there?”

Seems like an easy question, as at 15 you kind of know your own town and how to get places but the little things like street names eluded me. These are the things you learn after you get a license, as up till now I have just been a passenger and didn’t have to pay much attention. She seemed to be in the same boat as the directions included things like “go down the road with huge house on the corner and when you get to this red mailbox that’s the place, if you see a big tree you’ve gone too far.” Ok was all that I could muster and hung up.

Now the second phase of the operation was now underway, finding the keys to moms car. Most of the time she kept them on the buffet in the kitchen and that’s exactly where I found them. So after grabbing them I head out the door thinking about how I going to make the least amount of noise possible when my brother is dropped off by a friend after getting off from work. He can tell that something is up. I tell him the story and he is actually excited for me, something rare for him, as he is usually the typical older brother type of dickhead. So I outline my plan of putting the car in neutral, backing it out of the driveway and pushing it around the corner before starting it. He likes the plan and helps me execute it, I soon realize that power steering makes this harder but we still manage to push it far enough away so to not waken momma-san. My brother gives me a high five and sends me on my way.

Now I had driven this car before, mostly around the neighborhood and occasionally to the store, which was about 2 miles, but I always went the back way, which was dark and pretty much barren. So I felt pretty comfortable driving it so I turned out down Alabama hill, a first for me and a little intimidating, but as I could see about 5 miles of road ahead of me and hardly any headlights it eased my tension a bit, that is until I saw the gas tank on E. Oh shit, did I even have any money with me? Luckily I had five bucks and for the first time in my life noticed how much a gallon of gas was, $.96 cents!?!?! Is this stuff made of gold or something? Luckily the Yorkeys at the bottom of the hill was still open so I put in five bucks and paid the cashier who gave me a look like he knew I was doing something wrong. Hell I didn’t care as I was now on my way to paradise in my mothers stolen Pontiac which now had about a quarter of a tank of freshly pumped gas courtesy of yours truly.

I headed back onto the Alabama Street and when I did a cop car passed me going the opposite direction. My nuts tightened up and I started sweating but he didn’t pull a u-turn so I thought I was now in the clear. I headed down to Woburn Street, my first red light and took my free right (I had paid a little attention) and headed to where I thought the house was. Suddenly after a few turns and even more blocks away from my comfort zone I realized I was lost. Luckily I saw a telephone booth and pulled over to see if it had a city map, it did and after a few minutes I was back on the road headed in the right direction. I was about a block away from where I thought it should be when another, or maybe the same, cop car started following me. Oh shit I’m going to jail, was all that was going through my head. He followed me for the next full block then all of a sudden his red and blues started flashing. I nearly vomited but knew all I could do was pull over and confess. As I did, he accelerated and passed me. Holy shit that was close, and then I wondered if maybe he was just screwing with me…damn bear claw eating bastards.

So my nerves where shot and I still hadn’t seen a big house, when all of a sudden I found the street sign and hell yes there was a huge house right on the corner. I felt like Indiana Jones tracking down the Ark. Then I saw the big red mailbox and pulled into the driveway. The house looked pretty dark so I began to wonder if this had all been some type of practical joke. Soon this was dispelled as Shannon and her friend Becky came running out the front door. My penis was once again in control of most of the blood in my body. They were laughing and bouncing up and down at my door before I could even get out of the car. They seemed more excited than my penis was; ok it was probably a tie.

So after heading in the house they asked how I got the car, so I laid out the story for them focusing on the dangerous aspects for Shannon. They loved the story and I could tell my burgeoning crime career was worth all the effort. Shannon then asked me if I wanted to tour the house, me answering yes before she even ended the sentence. I sounded eager as hell but what was I Charlie Sheen? No, I was a 15 kid who had only had sex once and before that had barely touched a boob.

We left Becky behind as the tour quickly ended in the parent’s room where Shannon jumped on the bed and challenged me to a wrestling match. Could my luck really be this good? I must have been a helluva guy in a past life cause she was way too good-looking for me and to boot she was a gymnast. Which basically meant she had a very firm athletic body and was very flexible. To put it another way all I had to do was lay on my back and she would treat me like a pommel horse.

As with my previous experience she literally just attacked me as I reached the bed. This is a good thing because to be honest I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but boy did she. Don’t worry I wont get into the gritty details but lets just say even the Russian judge would have given her a 10.

Afterwards we then headed out to find Becky in the hallway, still not sure to this day if she had been watching us but she was doing an awful lot of giggling when we saw her standing there. The girls then headed off outside to have a cigarette and I took a seat on the sofa and where Nightmare on Elm Street was playing on the VCR. Occasionally I heard laughing and more giggling outside but I was pretty much oblivious to most everything. After they headed in I said that we should take off, as it was now about 2am. She agreed and we left a still giggling Becky behind.

We got into the car and drove off, soon I realized that I had hardly used any gas and that it might be my downfall. Shannon suggested going to Whatcom Falls Park and I of course agreed. I was still pretty damn nervous being all alone in a car with her as we had barely even spoken much in the past year. We drove in mostly silence and we went over the hill, past our neighborhood and around to the park. We had only seen one car on the road so far so I was far less panicked than before and that was good because I was still trying for the bad boy approach even if we both knew it wasn’t true.

I pulled into the park and into a secluded area towards the upper end of the vacant lot. Her asking if the seat went back broke a little bit of awkward silence. Before I could answer (I didn’t even know) she had found the lever and the bench seat leaned back about six inches. Then much like before she attacked me like I was a wounded gazelle and she was a hungry lion. Luckily I was up to the task if you know what I mean (being young has its advantages) and just let her be the captain of the ship. A few minutes into all this fun a cars headlights flashed through our window as it pulled into the lot. We remained motionless as we saw them park some 50 feet away. I was a little freaked out as I started to think that getting caught having sex with a 15 yr old girl in a car I had stolen might have some consequences. Her eyes however told another story and she began to ride me like Seabiscuit, to the point of rocking the car back and forth. I started to have visions of being picked out of a lineup in the not so distant future but my nether regions fought with my brain and ultimately won so after another minute we wrapped up our business of the monkey variety and enjoyed some more silence.

I looked into the rear view and my slack jawed smile said it all. Hell this might even be worth some jail time; I mean this stuff isn’t supposed to happen to a guy like me. I went to start the car and she stopped me asking if I could find the whirlpool in the dark. I told of course I could as I practically lived there in the summer.

The Whirlpool is a natural formation of rock in the middle of a set of waterfalls; it looks just like a hot tub carved out of rock in between two large cliffs. There is deep water below the cliffs so many people dive or jump in at which point you can swim off to a flat area and either hang out with the girls catching some rays our walk up the hill and back onto the cliffs again.

We had to walk a ways to get there and it was pretty dark at night considering all the trees covering the area. So we started out slowly but within only a couple of minutes it was so dark we could barely see? I was sure I had taken the right trail but my confidence was eroding. She then pulled out her lighter but it only helped slightly, we just kept on walking and soon we came to an opening where the Whirlpool was. For the first time that night I realized in was an almost full moon and a pretty clear night, probably the reason I could spot a red mailbox at 1am.

The water reflected the moonlight and it was eerily calm. This place was usually packed with 10-30 teenagers so it was strange to be here at night in near silence. I still had no clue why she wanted to walk up here but she asked how we could get down to the water, I told her we could jump in (still playing the dangerous angle) or we could walk around and then down the hill. The familiar evil look in her eye said it all so we walked over to the top of the cliff. The place was lit up with the moonlight but it was still pretty dark and from the top of the cliff you could barely see water so this was a little crazy.

She asked if I had ever jumped so I went into detail about my progression from jumping from the lower level to then diving from the higher cliff on the other side. I had been doing it for years but that first time was hard, if there hadn’t been a bunch of people staring at me I probably would have chickened out. I could see she was a little scared so I told her some tricks, first keep your shoes on and make sure you point your toes downward and keep your arms folded in front of you. I took her right out to where we needed to jump from and she looked over, she seemed a little shaky but just when I thought she was going to bale she took off her shirt, bra, skirt and panties.

Yep you guessed it Mr. Happy was coming back to life, I sat there staring at her nakedness when she told me to do the same. I got down to my boxers and told her it might not be wise for a guy to do this naked. Her laugh told me she understood. So I took another look at her and told her “On three two one…Jump” and then into the blackness we went. Its a long three seconds until we hit and on that night it was a severe shock to the system as not only did we not see it coming, it was far colder that when the sun was heating up the water during the day. We both reached the surface with the same expressive look, courtesy of a shock to the system that only 40-degree water can supply. After a few seconds of recovery she is laughing and yelling in celebration. I have stolen a car, had made freaky naughty in public, and jumped off a cliff in the dead of night in the span of about two hours. I started to feel if this kept escalating I would be need to be identified at the morgues office by my next of kin.

I just watched her in awe and began to swim to shore. I then began to realize that Mr. Happy didn’t appreciate the cold water as much as she did and had seemingly gone to sleep for the night. She was close behind as I walked out of the water, I turned hoping that the sight of her might cause some blood to start flowing but it was a lot darker down here and I barely made her out. Before I knew it she had run up to me and put me in what was essentially a big bear hug, even though she was a good 8 inches shorter and 70 lbs lighter than me, she easily pushed me to the ground. Before I could react my boxers were being tossed aside and well let me just put it this way, if we had just had dinner then I was now dessert. This was a first for me and wow did it ever live up to the hype. Skyrockets in flight and all the other hyperbole wouldn’t give it justice so lets just say I was the happiest man in the world at that given moment.

After Cape Canaveral’s third successful launch of the night I started to doze off. I mean Superman I am not. She must have felt the same way as she laid down beside and wrapped her arms around me for warmth. This act was the only thing from the night that could have been placed into the category of warmth or care. Everything up until then from her end of the table had been pure unrestrained sexual aggression and I was simply a tool in a mechanics hand, a means to ensure a necessary end.

We woke up a few minutes later as we were starting to cool down again. We began a fruitless search for my underwear that was abandoned quickly (sorry to the person that found them). We strolled up to grab our clothes and dressed in that familiar silence. The walk back was a little easier as we had adjusted to the light. We got into the car and headed back to our cul-de-sac and I let her off my place. I had no choice but to pull into the driveway as it was uphill and there was no way to push it into place. We got out and went our separate ways on nothing but a shared smile. I went in the door as quiet as I could and the place was dark, I tiptoed up to the kitchen and put the keys back where they belonged and went to my room.

I laid back on my bed replaying the night in my head, the greatest day of my life had just occurred and I was taking it all in. Then my brother came into my room and saw the look on my face. Dude was all he said, and that’s all I said back to him. His dude expressed an inquisitive nature and hopefulness. Mine expressed wonderment and total fulfillment. That was all that needed to be said, he left my room and I fell asleep.

I woke up to the sound of a cars ignition being turned over and over without it starting.
Oh shit, I am totally busted. I ruined the car and she knows it. Then I remember my previous night and decide any punishment would be worth it. Of course I had done nothing to the car it just had an old battery, I had lucked out not being the one to discover this thought. I walked around the rest of the day, hell the rest of the week with a big slaphappy grin. All the guys our there know what I am talking about.

Two weeks later I was playing baseball and someone slid into my leg causing a compound fracture of my tibia. I spent the next two years going through various medical complications that ended up nuking my athletic career. It’s kind of sad to say it but that was probably the best day of my life, nothing like it has happened since and most likely won’t again unless I hit the lotto. Funny thing is I didn’t even see or talk to Shannon again for over two years as she went to another high school the next year. However I did have another encounter with her after I got my Camaro but that, as they say, is for another time.

Missing since 1985

Over the weekend this blog crashed with some type of database error so I went about learning how to stop clicking that change template button and actually build my own. It was made exceedingly hard by Blogsome due some restrictions they have but cant really complain as they are by far the best free blog out there as they have their own image hosting and use the WordPress format. So I spent two long nights learning things like delimiter tags, variable modifiers, and PHP parsers. I know its nothing special but it works and looks pretty clean so all in all I am pleased.

And on top of that last night was a little cooler so I finally got some zzzz’s for the first time in what seemed like 4 score. And yet when I woke up and glanced in the mirror the guy looking back still looked like a bloated transient in need of detox. Luckily I am used to the fugly that is my reflection so I hardly noticed.

With that I good you bid evening…..

Woke up early this morning, 8 o’clock, and I was groggy as it’s been hot as hell the past few days and my sleep has been deprived. Its no fun waking up in bed all sweaty and no woman is in sight. So I roll into the shower and get dressed and head out into the beautiful morning, a nice breeze is blowing so maybe I will be a tad cooler today. I have a dr’s appointment in town so thats where I get dropped off, I arrive in town early and want to hit the library and snag breakfast. When I get to the library it doesn’t open for another hour so I go to Cafe Tolouse, which is just around the corner. Strolling over to the front door leads me to discover a closed sign and a note advising that they are on vacation for the next three weeks. Vacation? Its a fucking restaurant for gods sake, so my day has started rather poorly thus far but its not that hard to find a place to eat nearby so I do just that.

Its a place that serves breakfast all-day ever-day so it should be decent, at least one would hope, I grab a PI and slide into a booth craving some cold OJ and sausage. I get the menu and everything has eggs with it, I do mean everything, and eggs are my kryptonite so I have to go ala cart. I go with the Freedom Toast (a wink to Rich on that one) and the aforementioned accoutrements. The service is quick as is the kitchen so I am eating in no time, and yet the food is unspectacular in everyway. Plain Jane toast, greasy meat patty, and room temp juice. Then I get the bill, twelve fucking bucks…not including tip. Can this be right, for prison food? Yep its all there in summarized items and while I am in no way cheap it feels as though I am being bent over. Twelve bucks would have gotten me The Amazingly Decadent Caramel Freedom Toast (Wink and nod to Rich) at the Five Spot atop Queen Anne Hill, but nope I didnt get that meal, hell I didnt even get a little hint of cinnamon with mine. Fuck, this day was soon becoming shitty to the 3rd power.

So now its time to go visit the doc, I check in with the receptionist (her perky breasts lift my spirit a bit) and take a seat. And then I wait and wait and wait some more, 50 minutes go by before my name is called. During this time I get to see an infuriated and manic woman pace back in forth throughout the lobby demanding painkillers for her knee which as she tells everyone is now hurting her quite a bit. This despite the fact she is in a constant gallop covering the 30 or so yards of waiting room in a heartbeat, not the most convincing act.

My nurse (Fugly) leads me into the exam room and asks if I have ever seen him before (no) and then assures me I will like him. So I am left alone and have read the entire paper by the time he makes his appearance some twenty minutes later. As he is an orthopedist I have to run down my whole back history with him (bad to worse to fubar in 3 years) and then he started to examine me. This is now the 8th, yes count ‘em, 8th orthopedist I have seen on this time frame I know the routine.

Internal thoughts italicized

Doc: Take off your shoes (flip flops) and shirt and hop up on the exam table, good now let me test your reflexes…boing…boing…boing, ok now bend forward, now bend backward, to your left side, to your right. Is this painful for you?
Unemployed Ben: Have you noticed my grimace finally doc? Yes that causes some pressure.
Doc: Ok tell me where, right here? Ok let me push my finger into your damaged and taut nerves, oh a little sensitive in that spot huh?
Unemployed Ben: So you did see my legs buckling and me grinding my teeth after all, yep you must have gone to college for this huh? Yes, you could say that its a little tender.
Doc: Ok now lay back and bring your leg knee up to your chest.
Unemployed Ben: No problem, can I do the splits next? I dont believe I can.
Doc: Oh so thats pretty restrictive for you?
Unemployed Ben: No, not really as bending over is overrated. Very much so.
Doc: So on a scale of one to ten how much pain are you in when I try to lift your leg up this far?
Unemployed Ben: Did I just bite through my lip? Is blood dripping onto your white coat? A solid eight.
Doc: Ok now stand facing towards me and get on your tippy toes.
Unemployed Ben: Sweet!! How did you know intense shooting pain down my legs was on my wish list for the day. Ouch.
Doc: Oh so that hurt?
Unemployed Ben: Are you a fucking sadist? Everything that you are doing hurts like a mofo!! Yes
Doc: Ok so you are is some pain now?
Unemployed Ben: You are getting off of this, that oversized lab coat better not be hiding a chubby. Uh huh.
Doc: Ok have a seat.
Unemployed Ben: The exam is over already? But you didnt see me weep or collapse yet. Alright
Doc: Ok close your eyes and tell me how this feels.
Unemployed Ben: Oh you sick fuck, I knew you were a perv. Ok
Doc: (Running his hands up my leg) How does this feel compared to this? (Running his hands up my arm)
Unemployed Ben: Just my luck I get a sadist doc with a fat fetish. Different.
Doc: How different?
Unemployed Ben: Well having never been felt up by man, pretty different I guess. Legs felt numb and my arms didnt.
Doc: Ohhh….umm ok then.
Unemployed Ben: Oh shit, when a doc says this they know something is really bad. So what does that indicate, exactly?
Doc: To be sure I want to run some tests.
Unemployed Ben: Could this get any worse? All right.
Doc: I want you to get another MRI then a Bone scan and possibly a Electromyogram (EMG) as your condition concerns me.
Unemployed Ben: Super, spending forty-five minutes jammed into a tube for the third time will rock.
Unemployed Ben: Neato, an EMG is tantamount to being a human pin cushion and I just love a good piercing.
Unemployed Ben: A doc just used the word concerns and me in the same sentence, note to self…write a will.
Unemployed Ben: Bone scan? Is that how they make realistic dildo’s and strap-ons? Will I get a percentage of the sales? Is the Bone scanner in question gentle? Will a naughty nurse be there to warm me up?
Unemployed Ben: Ok then

I then left the office limping and shuffling along to the library where I grab a David Sedaris (Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim) a Michael Ruhlman (The making of a chef) a Bill Robinson (It’s all your fault) and lastly a Kevin Smith (The collected writings of). I departed and trudged over to the place I despise, the bus station. The journey home would be a long and bumpy one, some 75 minutes later I stepped off the bus (Yes it was a 1.25 hr long bus ride) went home and finished up the last 50 pages of Silent Bobs book, which is essentially a detailed diary on the making of the movie and how amazing he felt Jersey Girl was in every aspect of movie making. The first 270 pages were good and made up for the irrational thought of an obviously biased man rating his own product.

I had some lemonade, dropped some pork chops in a coffee marinade (daring and delish) from my hey day in the pit, and then surfed some net. A couple hours later I cooked that swine up and had me some fingerling taters along side and soon thereafter I had a rootbeer float (damn tasty on a warm day). I then retired to my boudoir and wrote this accounting of a day filled with strap-on jokes, naughty nurses and freedom toast.

Apparently my brain has gone behind my back and cast some aspirations at yours truly and on my own blog no less. He better watch out or I’ll go back to killing him with large quantities of beer. It also wouldn’t be wise of him to think that I haven’t contemplating going back to smoking spliffs either, its not like I have anything to stay clean for. And another warning, watch out for the Q-Tip tomorrow morning cause I am going deep man and wont be stopping until I reach treasonous Mr. Grey Matter.

Hey how’s it going? This is Unemployed Ben’s brain checking in for the first time and right off the bat I would like to offer an apology to all of you, yeah you know who you are…the ones subjected to the torture that is reading this blog. Now he doesn’t mean wrong and at times he gives it a valiant effort but he just isn’t all that smart and this affects not only the content but also the execution as well. Trust me it wasn’t always this way, he actually had just as good a chance as anyone but instead of reading about philosophy like his older brother he decided to start smoking weed. This became a familiar theme in his life and after awhile his brain (me) just stopped developing, you just can’t get much work done through the haze of THC he was covering me in on a daily basis.

I am not here cast too much blame on the guy as at one point it seemed that he was actually going to make a pretty decent living for himself at the one place where he didn’t need any real brain development, the restaurant biz. It doesn’t take the teachings of Plato to know how to put grated cheese on tortilla chips and nuke it for two minutes.

But then around the age of 24 he did a really stupid thing, he stopped trying to match Cheech and Chong bong load for bong load and gave up the one thing that had made him who he was, Marijuana. It is a scientific fact that we only use 10% of our brains but Ben in fact at this moment was only using about 0.5% of it. Trust me it was a miracle that he even remembered where he worked most days. Some might think this was a hindrance but actually it helped as he didn’t have the brainpower to be able to know that the place he worked at was awful or that the amount of money they were paying him was sub dishwasher levels. No he just went about peeling potatoes and never even thought that much about anything except of course about how stoned he was going to get when he got off work.

However when all this tar started to dissipate from my cerebral cortex I had no choice but to start develop and some of the things he hadn’t noticed before started becoming apparent, things like self respect and the ability to distinguish the fact that when not under the influence of the chronic most people were in fact not cool but were actually kinda assholish. Of course this led him over time to realize that maybe he should speak up for himself and that maybe life wasn’t about trying to emulate Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and that maybe he should make a name for himself by standing up to the bosses that preferred plumbing or sailing to actually running a restaurant.

Yep…big mistake, you see his newly developed brain was only a couple years old at the time and this should have been the phase of life where most people were learning how to wipe their ass without getting poopy hands but Ben was 29 and he wanted to finally use this newly developed brain (me) to tell his bosses to go screw themselves, so he quit on principle, even though he still probably thought that was the guy who ran the High School.

So he was now unemployed (something he would know a lot about in the upcoming years) and realized he was barely a functioning retard. He wondered how he hadn’t even noticed this all those years working in kitchens and then began to realize that the very people he worked along side where stoned retards as well.

He didn’t know what to do, he had no skills at all and really no way of getting a job other than working at McDonalds or blowing goats at a freak show carnival that traveled the country and visiting towns with a vibrant sub-culture such as Lynden or Kansas City. Luckily during his era of awakening he had discovered something called a newspaper and soon began to realize that potential employers chose this as the place where they would describe the jobs they had available to the general public. His post chronic era was sure starting to pay off. Then one day he saw it, most likely because it was a big ad with shiny colors, it was an opening for a job at VoiceStream Wireless. Soon he began to ask his still stoned buddies if they had heard of the place and they told me that ‘fuck yeah they will hire any retard’. What a match made in heaven he thought, so he called them up and asked if it was true that they had a training program for retards. They said yes and scheduled him for an interview immediately thinking he was a great candidate as he was able to dial a phone and talk without too much difficulty.

He showed up at the interview and after they determined he fit their criteria perfectly (he had a pulse) they hired him. They scheduled him for a drug test, they had standards only slightly above the restaurant biz apparently, and soon was in a training class with like-minded people. You guessed it they all had poopy hands as well! After a while he realized that a trained monkey could do this job and that he didn’t barley needed to use the new parts of his brain to excel. His newly developed skill of walking and talking stood out among his peers and he shot right to the top of the pack. However soon thereafter the poo flinging monkeys in management were threatened by his ability to stand upright and to spin plates on a stick so they set out to destroy his will. Some 6 years later he finally noticed what was happening, remember his brain (me) was still only about 9 years old after all. Hey they aren’t going to promote me are they? He wondered at night. Soon he wondered what he should do as an outlet for his frustration. Then he discovered something wonderful called the internet and on this wide world of web was something called a blog. Hey I can do that he wondered aloud, almost any retard could and did.

So this brings us back to where we are today, he has been unemployed for 13 months and trust me that doesn’t make him any smarter. He makes an honest attempt to write cohesive sentences but he has a lot going against him, first off he only has the brain of a 10 year old now and is just getting past the poopy hands phase. Next is that he still gets distracted by shiny things like keys and loose change. But most of the time he is just lazy and will simply copy and paste something he read from another blog and changes a word or two to avoid any copyright infringements. So I hope this story explains why he is the way he is and that while he means well he just doesn’t have the capacity yet for either rational thought or common sense. Try to remember that you are essentially reading the musings of a retarded and stoned 5th grader.

What the fuck is the matter with people these days? The people that come into restaurants and order sauce on the side or try to substitute something off of another dish onto the one they happen to be ordering. These people should stay home and invite the vegans and vegetarians over because they shouldnt be allowed out in public either.

I blame two things, one this silly sense of entitlement that has invaded this country for the last two decades and of course the TV cooking shows. See, now everyone is a chef. The guy selling hot dogs is a chef. Guys who make those bland, tasteless sandwiches are’sandwich artists’. The guy who puts the canned jalapenos on your nachos? Yep you guessed it, he’s a chef. Ever seen the sickening pint sized baby chef wear? Toddlers are chefs? It’s ok though because don’t they just look sooooo cute? Someone shoot me in the fucking head…please.

There are many types of chefs, at least in my opinion. First and foremost is the paper chef, he might have the title executive chef but the only way he will cut cut is by a piece of paper because he hasnt picked up a knife in a year.

Second is the Rock and Roll chef, you know the ones on TV like Jaime Oliver and Rocco Despirito. They turn out a book every six months, have their own line of shitty pots and pans, and of course have head shots. Head fucking shots? No self respecting chef has the time or inclination to pretend he is this much of an asshole. Resume’? No…but let me get you my headshot, its fabulous.

And then there are the woman chefs, you know the ones that cook on TV and have the studio made up to look like a charming home kitchen. They even get the ingredients out of the cupboard for the homey charming look, they have image consultants and plastic surgeons so that their eyes sparkle like a cubic zirconia.

Of course there are also the working chefs, the ones that spend day nights and sometimes even both on the line, in the pit. They put everything into their jobs and are unable to sleep at night because they thinking of the next days specials. These are the ones not planning a press tour, wondering which is their good side, or thinking about if their chef coat has their name printed on it.

Try to remember the following when you go out to eat, walk in to the restaraunt, sit the fuck down and order your meal. See how easy that is? You dont even need a G.E.D. to get that right.

Here’s something else to remember, when you attempt to re-arrange the menu and fuck up all the dishes to suit your needs, you are going to be immediately the asshole on table 4. Trust me as soon as you do this the waiter just nods and says no problem but what you said gets verbalized to the kitchen. Oh man Ive got a real fucktard out there right now, he wants the sauce on the side, his salmon well done and no starch because he is on atkins so he asked if you could saute’ some snow peas up instead. Do you have any idea what happens to this guys food? He gets the salmon previously determined too smelly to serve, the kind that normally would have been put into a quiche on Sunday brunch. Dont be this asshole and you wont spend the next morning throwing up for 8 straight hours.

Floor Manager: Rocco the kitchen just got slammed and they need some help
Rocco: Im having my photo shoot now
Floor Manager: Seriously I think they need your help since you fired the sous chef and havent hired a replacement
Rocco: I look good dont I? This botox is the shit, I look at least 14 months younger. My wallet chain makes me look tough, I am the Jesse James of the culinary world!!

So now that I have a world famous blog and am considered among the social elite I think its time to tell you about some of the blogs of the people that hang out with me at skybar on the weekends, at least when we are not at The SideKick 4 Slutty Whore Version release party or some other place where you check your soul at the door.

First off is a guy that has held the position at the top of my links list for some time now Kevin Smith and his Silent Bob Speaks blog. In the first six months it was really a peek inside his life sometimes to his detriment but over the past few months it has become just a self promoting shell of its former self, kinda like his directing career.

Next up is Barenaked Ladies!!! No this is not a porn site but just a site written by various members of the band. If you havent seen them in concert then its quite possible your a dumbshit.

Batting in the three spot is David Mamet, any person who writes the line ‘Whats my name? Fuck you thats my name” is ok in my book. Plus his cartoons make me feel good about my stick figures.

And now a blast from the past, yep mister puffy pants himself MC Hammer
. He gives his view on the dance culture and how it sucks to be broke. Hammer dont hurt ‘em

In the five hole is the man that stole my nickname, I should be mad but Ive moved beyond it at this point in my life. Moby has a lot of opinions and updates almost daily which makes me wonder if he is still surfing my wake.

Next up a man who I dont know much about, he has a NPR show but I choose not to listen because of the social stigma involved, Douglass Rushkoff talks about some heady stuff and puts his nuts on the paper shredder from time to time and that ok with me a fellow balls on the shredder type of person.

And now Tom Green, a canadian with a twisted sense of humor, a grudge at his parents and a willingness to get even with them.

Now here is one to laugh at and not with, Melanie Griffith has chosen to share with us letters she writes to herself. Example: Dear Inner Self, If it is your will, please reveal to me in a dream tonight the secret of my success in order to become closer to you. With love and respect, Melanie - This is real!!! Scary stuff man.
* Warning- Do not go to this site while high, you will have a bad trip

To top it all off the king of all blogs Kim Jong Il, yep the high heel wearing dude from North Korea!! He is the only leader of a country with his own blog and he lets us into his world and the various IM chats he has with other world leaders.

There you go, a way to look in on the fabulous lives we all lead.

So as they say at the strip club, when the lights come on its time to move on and that means you!

I was asked today what is was that I missed so much from my days in a kitchen.

I guess its the little things. The things that cant be duplicated at home, like the way a kitchen smells when the ovens are full, the vast array of equipment at my disposal, the access to the exotic ingredients, the sense of accomplishment after knocking out 400 covers.

And yet there is even more of those little things. The way my hands smelled of garlic and fresh herbs after going home for the night even though they have been washed. The scars on my hands, fingers and arms that are a reminder of all my battle wounds. The ability at any time to grab a tenderloin or a piece of fresh fish and make it my dinner.

Of course I miss the people too. The flirty waitresses working their way through college, the ones that can outdrink and outhump you most days of the week. The smartass busboys who toss pads of butter, bread, and crackers at the back of your head as they run by. The bartenders that knew how hard your job was and how the alcohol content of your drink reflected it. The cocktailers who would share a drink with you no matter how bad you smelled from a night on the line. The dishwashers that might have had the dirtiest and hardest job in the kitchen, the ones that had to stay after everyone else went home. The hostess that knew not to seat a table five minutes before close and directed them to the bar instead. The waiter that would garnish his own plates when the kitchen was slammed. And of course my partners in crime on the line, the ones that showed up early and never called in sick, the ones with both skills and the love.

I also miss the things that are simply too expensive to make at home, the ones with safron, truffels and foie gras.

But I guess the thing I still miss the most are my mushroom pants, my seafood pants, my tropical fish pants…but most of all I miss my Pepper Pants!!!

Warning: The next person that uses the phrase “Whatever” in response to either a question or statement of mine be prepared for a swift kick to the side of your head.

My reasoning: The phrase is bordering on being over 12 years old, with its popularity stemming from the movie Clueless.

My exemption: If you are truly apathetic, carry around a worn out paperback of Fight Club and quote Chuck Paulinuk while having no interest in much of anything then maybe you can get away with this but realize what the nihilistic lifestyle is. It is a doctrine holding that all values are baseless and that nothing can be known or communicated.

Opposition to my own exemption: If this is really who you are, are you really going to be quoting something that Alicia Silverstone said in a movie about abject superficialism?

Woke up in a shitty mood today, I wanted to fling poo at the Mona Lisa and kick a puppy. Not sure why but it might have to do with the searing pain shooting down my spinal column or it just might be that I am an asshole.

Then I was reminded about the one thing about living on the beach in the summer, it’s quite hard to stay in a bad mood. Ill give you an example, like I said I felt like shit of a triscuit when I woke up but still managed to haul myself in the shower. After which I decided I wanted a bagel so I headed on over to the local bakery and on my way a woman of spectacular order was jogging towards me. She was the reason spandex was invented and wow did she glow like the morning sun, her blonde hair tied back into a full of life ponytail while she bounced up then down…up then down. And all her stuff bounced in the right way too, firmly and with just the right amount of boing boing boing. The closer I got to her the more I thought it must be a mirage as no woman can look this good at 10am but she was real and to top all this off she actually smiled at me as our eyes locked for the split second I passed.

The smile of this anonymous beautiful woman changed my day and for that I am grateful.

For once and for all let’s try to hash out an email protocol. What the fuck am I talking about? I’m talking about people that don’t write you back after you have emailed them with an open-ended question. This shit really is starting to piss me off, I mean aren’t we lucky as hell to have electronic mail at all let alone that it can be sent and received in a fraction of a second? Are we now all getting lazy in this realm like all the other phases of life? Oh no not an email, do I really have to write an email? Oh my time is too damn precious to take 20 seconds and answer the question my friend has asked of me.

Most likely the person not responding is the one that started the email chain in the first place. Maybe they have been watching Dionne Warwick and have been practicing their psychic abilities, or maybe they are just rude bastards with no real sense of how to act in a civilized world. At the very least answer with a simple yes, no or one word answer as it sends the point loud and clear.

Ok we have discussed the no reply people now I want to talk about the people that exchange 4, 5 or even 10 emails within a small time frame and than just disappear. Do I care if you have a small penis and are tantalized by the Enzyte ad flashing on that webpage you happen to be visiting? No, hell if you have a small dick then by all means try whatever it takes until a woman says that you aren’t putting that monster insider her. And while it must suck to have a small johnson that doesn’t mean you are restricted from giving a little heads like, “hey I’m heading out the door” or “I’m answering the phone” or my fav “I just got a toe cramp and I’m currently rolling on the floor in pain.” In other words tell me you are no longer responding for the night or that you decided to tug one out are not going to be looking at your Gmail account for 30 seconds to 10 minutes. I have other things to do, waiting for your comments about who got knocked up at work is not really something I give a crap about. The reason I replied to you in the first place was out of COMMON FUCKING COURTESY, look that up if you don’t know what it means. Its also the only reason anyone talks to you at work, do you really think any cares how your weekend was or how you’re doing at any particular moment in time? Like these people are charting your moods in hopes of catching you on a day where wont actually tell them how you really feeling but only offer a polite ‘good” or perhaps even ‘great’

So the next time you write an email, remember that with it comes a certain responsibility. If you people dont start replying I will go old school, to time where there was no email, to a place where people put flaming bags of poo on doorsteps, your doorstep.

There was a man, a man who rode a motorcycle, a man that had a tattoo. He loved the ladies and oh how the ladies loved him, but they didn’t know of his terrible secret. You see he was an alien from the planet Zenob and he was sent here to kill us, kill all of us. What a bastard!!!

You’re acting like a twelve year old bitchy schoolgirl

This was a line that a husband told his wife today. I was making myself a lovely hamburger and out the window came the sound of a very upset woman, she was yelling so loud it must have been heard by most everyone in my little corner of this beach community. She ranted and raved about what I have no clue, it didnt even seem like she was yelling at anyone specific because there was no other voice heard. She must have been pissed because this went on for about four minutes with no signs of stopping. Then out of the yelling and screaming I heard a deep man’s voice say “You’re acting like a twelve year old bitchy schoolgirl!”

And then complete and utter silence.

My burger was done so I went back inside to eat it thinking to myself that sometimes its good to hear other people argue, because in these times you can see the passion people have. Yelling can be a good thing, you tend to get a lot off your chest during a session like that. Some people need to yell for minutes on end and yet all that someone else might need is three seconds. Who knows but even though they are kinda old my guess is they had some make-up sex. Loud… wild…old people sex. Hope no one broke a hip and that the Viagra worked.

I am not a big fan of people
-Unemployed Ben

Lately I have been exploring the world of culinary excellence. Trying new things with old tools, having broken out my chinois, my steel mandolin, and combining them with a cuisinart and kitchen aid I have branched out in the past week making things I had long since abandoned, first on the list was bread. It had been years since I made my rosemary and garlic infused french bread and I don’t know why because when that smell carried outside my neighbors were all of sudden very chummy with me. The aroma alone is worth the kneading, rolling, chopping, twisting and scoring involved. However when having it along side my roasted red pepper soup it should be considered to be in the category of death row last meals.

A lot of people ask me what my favorite meal is and then seem shocked when I answer, as if they were expecting something more sophisticated coming from a chef. What most people don’t realize is that working chefs have very little free time in their days so things like a good piece of bread sitting along side a bowl of soup is the perfect meal. Many times right before lunch would hit hard I would take a few minutes and slip into a nearby empty conference room and enjoy the aforementioned meal forgetting for a moment all the things that inhabit by day like meat, produce, dairy orders, inventory, staff scheduling, special creation, food cost controls, and broken equipment. No this was my time no matter how small a window it was, I tried to think about nothing except perhaps nuance of the soup ingredients or how the hostess’ ass would feel like sitting on my lap.

Another of my favorites is beef bourguignon, this was the last thing I made for a group of employees at the place that last provided me with a paycheck. It had been a labor of love and sat cooking all night permeating the walls of my small apartment. However when some of them began the potluck I received numerous comments including:

Is this canned stew?
Eww… does this have wine in it? I don’t like wine!
Why would you make a bowl out of bread?

That is not to say the people that knew what it was, all three of them, didn’t appreciate it. One actually said aloud “wow this is so fucking good” risking their career in the process because HR most likely had the place bugged. But to be honest I already knew that it was the shit so that comment didn’t stick out, it was the fucktards and their ignorance that stay with me some 14 months later. But not the last month or so as I have made some glorious things from my once burgeoning culinary career and the people lucky enough to be around me have remembered that person I once was, the cocky, trash talking, egotistic god of gastronomy.

The last week alone the following were sighted: My Mojo Chicken Salad, my Margarita Salmon, my Macadamia Nut Encrusted Halibut and my Steak Au Poivre. The recipes that exist not on paper but only in mind, this way no one can steal them and yell BAM while posing for the camera.

I came to the conclusion recently that many of my personality traits are from the time spent in a kitchen. You see a kitchen is a place dominated by men and where almost nothing is outta bounds, it is in this environment that I was shaped psychologically. So the next time you notice that my joke is a little dirtier than standard fare and that I tend to call random people fucktards to their face, please remember I come from a place where it is I was not only encouraged to talk about ones mother but was judged on how creatively I insulted her.

I could call a waiter a fucking cock sucking motherfucker and it might only illicit a wry smile or grin. I think I have been desensitized to what might be considered rude by the velvetta bunch (if you dont know what that is I am talking about you). So when people tend to joke around or kid me about something that happened at work, I generally turn around and say something about their sister and the sixth fleet. Why? Because in my former life if I didn’t do this, I would lose the respect of my peers. You give worse than you got or you go home!

So to the people out there that were offended by something I have said, fuck you if you cant take a joke. Lighten the fuck up. Life doesn’t and shouldn’t have a 24/7 Human Resources bubble surrounding it. If someone goes too far, make it your mission to get them to cry. Deep psychological harm is your goal and don’t stop until the entire room becomes hushed and uncomfortable.

Trust me if you’re strong enough to take people telling you to fuck off all day and having your soup du juor compared to a vat of rancid rat piss, then you become more of a well adjusted person than your bus riding compadres. Plus wouldn’t you rather work in a place where you could call your boss a festering genital wart and there would be no repercussions other than a comment about your fondness for hairy man ass?

Do you lay in bed at night wondering if you might be an asshole? The clues are there for you everyday in the form of various middle fingers and the befuddled looks of pissed of people, but you are just not sure if they are directed at you. Well why not find out for sure and take this little test.

1. Do you drive a H2 and complain about gas prices?

2. Do you wait in an line that has a couple of people in it, spend all your time in line thinking about why you always have drool on your chin, and then suddenly you realize you’re BUYING something and then hunt around for your checkbook?

3. Do believe you’re in some sort of competition while driving, and you’d be giving away a secret move if you used a turn signal?

4. Do you drive while talking on your cell phone?

5. Do you make fun of a sports team for 10 years and then when they suddenly do well you jump on the bandwagon and act as if you’ve always been a fan?

6. Do you suddenly stop in the middle of a busy aisle/intersection/hallway and just stand there?

7. Do you complain about the government, yet don’t vote?

8. Do you believe everything your government tells you?

9. Do you ask stupid questions and then get pissed off when returned with stupid answers?

10. Do you get good service in a restaurant and yet don’t tip?

11. Do you send those stupid e-mails that explain how you are going to make a ton of money or some sick child will benefit because so-and-so company will track your e-mails?

12. Do you call for a pizza, tell the guy to hold, then ask what everybody wants?

13. Do you put your makeup on while driving?

14. Do you wear a team jersey and know nothing about the team or sport?

15. Do you take a toddler to an adult restaurant without concern for others’ dining experience?

16. Do you park your car so close to another that the driver can’t even open his door to get in?

17. Do you talk on your cell phone at a game to someone else AT THE SAME GAME?

18. Do you, a supervisor, send out an email telling everyone in the office to show up on time and then stroll in 30 minutes late everyday and leave at 10 to five?

19. Do you ask someone a question but don’t listen to the answer?

20. Do you constantly tell people to have an open mind about your religion because their religion is wrong?

If you have answered yes to any of these questions than I am sorry to say this but you are indeed an Asshole. Learning for the first time that you are an Asshole can be a shocking and humiliating experience, dont worry that is a natural response. There are two things you can do to make the change needed to stop being the asshole thats drags down the people around you. First take a deep breath. Next, decide to either change your ways or grab a bottle of Drano, the one under the sink and chug it down so the rest have one less of you to deal with.

I wrote another tale from the kitchen today, all 3000 words of her. Then at the end I just came to the realization that if you’ve been there you understand where I am coming from and if you haven’t I am just not articulate enough to lay it out so that you could understand the world I once inhabited. Plus all it does is really make me miss the life I used to lead, with friends who would do almost anything for me if only I asked. A life of adventure and meaning, nights filled with so much adrenaline that it takes hours and hours to come down from, hours spent with the people that were right there with you. Its more than a existence its simply your life and if you are not doing it, you miss it. You more than just miss it, you long for it. Nothing feels the same after doing it and nothing likely ever will.

Will I ever rediscover this world? Not sure but I sure don’t want to discount it because the way I left it just wasn’t right. It remains like a bad taste in my mouth that I still endure every single day. It probably explains why I have been at times in the past few years a man that isn’t all that pleased with how he has left things.

I once heard that it is better to have tried and lost than to not have tried at all. I don’t think that is accurate, because if you have tried you have at least seen something you might never recapture and at times it can be a haunting reminder of your current state.

I miss that connection to something more meaningful than just some time spent in a cubicle. The long nights, the stitched up fingers, the burnt hands, they all had a purpose to them. How can I look at the time in my life that gave me a bad back and poor eyesight with any pride when the only merit it might have had was giving some anonymous guy free nights and weekends.

Enjoy with my compliments